


West From Home

by shxme



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: For the Strange Oddities zine!, Jackalope McCree/Dragon hanzo, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shxme/pseuds/shxme
Summary: He meets a stranger on the wandering road.[my nsfw piece for the strange oddities fanzine]





	West From Home

**Author's Note:**

> here's my piece for the strange oddities fanzine. I worked with @darksideofkira on twitter and @ahdayumn on tumblr! send them love they deserve it!

The truck is loud. It rattles and squeaks and Hanzo can feel every uneven part of the road rattle his spine through the floor. He doesn’t mind it. Being in a car is a welcome change even if the floor is littered with paper bags and styrofoam cups.

“So where you comin’ from?” His attention returns to the man at the wheel of the truck, one arm locked against the steering wheel and the other twisting the unlit cigar in his mouth.

“Unimportant,” Hanzo responds, perhaps a bit coldly. The question was too difficult and the man—McCree, as he introduced himself—seems to notice. He twists the cigar almost thoughtfully and glances at Hanzo. There’s smoke in his dark gaze; something that causes his skin to itch.

“You ever been this far west?” McCree tries again.

“I have not.”

McCree hums. “Nevada’s nice.” He looks out the window, at the shadowy landscape flashing by the car. “Prolly one of my favorite places to visit.”

Hanzo fidgets with the bag on his lap. “You travel often, then?”

The other man chuckles. His red flannel shirt is rolled up to the elbow and Hanzo can’t help but admire the sturdiness of his tanned arm as he tips his cowboy hat lower.

“Too much, I reckon,” he says, almost abashedly. “Run across a lotta folks like you, though.”

“Like me,” Hanzo echoes, worry worming its way through his already frayed nerves like a parasite.

McCree glances at him again. Maybe it’s the dark eyes; maybe that’s what’s trapping his focus, making him unable to look away.

“People who are runnin’,” he explains, voice careful. “Encounter a lot of ‘em on the highways ‘round here.” The truck slows as he steers around a pothole.

“Oh.”

“Used to ask,” McCree continues. “But nowadays, I just know.”

A light appears far down the road—it’s the motel that the cowboy offered to drive him to.

“I see.” Hanzo thinks he might understand. There’s the look that he wears. Enough wariness to shatter like glass. He’s been on the run for weeks, doing his best to travel farther and farther west. Tired and worn out, looking like a mess, too. He’s never stayed so long in a foreign country. It’s easy to tell he’s not well-off.

“Lotta fabled folks too.” McCree adds. Hanzo’s knees knock together under his bag, jerking close with tenseness.

“Fabled?” Hanzo asks, deliberately keeping his tone level, not letting anything change. The fabled. Creatures that aren’t quite on the same plane as humans. People who aren’t exactly people.

The cowboy nods. “Once helped a siren to the coast. Quite a trip.” He tilts his head to look at Hanzo once more, and there’s something new in his gaze this time. A test.

He shivers, a bolt of cold slipping down his spine. “Oh.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care.

They lapse into quiet for a moment. The radio crackles; a station’s finally close enough for them to receive its signal. It’s quiet and full of static, but Hanzo thinks he can hear country music between all the noise.

“Here we are,” McCree says as they pull into the nearly empty motel lot. It’s shabby, all scuffed-up wood and stone. The lights are on, however, and Hanzo is already looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in over a week.

McCree gets out of the truck with him, which is surprising. He walks him inside, boots clicking against asphalt. There’s a fair-haired woman at the counter; a tired half-smile flits across her lips as she sees the two of them.

“Evening, Jesse,” she greets them warmly. “Long time, no see.”

Hanzo lets the name  _ Jesse  _ float around his head. It fits.

“Howdy, Rachel.” McCree tips his hat. He reaches into his back pocket and pushes a small stack of crumpled bills across the counter. “One room for this here fella.”

Hanzo’s fingers tighten around the strap on his bag. “You don’t have to pay for me.” He reaches for the money but the woman, Rachel, has already taken it.

“Don’t even try,” she laughs quietly as she thumbs through the soft bills. “Jesse’s got too big of a heart to let folks like you worry about payin’.”

_ Folks like you.  _ The distinction scratches at what’s left of Hanzo’s tattered pride. Folks like you. People that only have a single bag to their name. People that are hiding. In another life he’d be bristling at that, but now he’s only grateful.

Rachel slides a roomkey across the counter. “Be out by two,” she says. “Don’t make a mess of the room.”

Hanzo nods. Rachel waves them away and Hanzo wanders down the left hall to find his room. It’s nearly at the end, door embellished with a brass “11.” Jesse’s followed behind. Just far enough to give him space.

He turns around once he slots the key into the lock.

“Thank you.” He means it. McCree has been extraordinarily kind to him.

A smoky smile curves across the man’s mouth. “No problem darlin’.”

Maybe it was that last word.  _ Darling.  _ The last nail in his coffin. Every time McCree looks at him, Hanzo sees something. Something in his eyes promising heat. Something new.

Whatever the cause, Hanzo hesitates, hand on the doorknob.

“Would you like to—come in with me?” He asks. It sounds ridiculous as soon as he says it. He’s barely presentable, looking like a stray dog at best. But McCree is handsome and it’s been so long since he had warmth.

One of the cowboy’s eyebrows quirks upwards. “Hanzo, you don’t owe me no favors or anythin’.” It’s the second time that he’s said his name and it sends a spark across his shoulders.

“I don’t—” He twists the key and door unlocks with a click. “I’m not trying to repay you.”

McCree is quiet and he steps closer, till he can smell the scent of pine and hills in the quiet hall. The tall man isn’t moving, rigid in front of him.

“I’m usually cold,” Hanzo explains, dangerously close now. “I’m asking if you’d help me warm up.”

McCree’s hand reaches up jerkily to pull the still unburnt cigar out of his mouth. He tips Hanzo’s chin up with the back of his thumb and kisses him. Hanzo clutches at his collar, pulling him along as he opens the door to the room, biting at his lips.

It’s not much; there’s a bathroom immediately on the right, and the bed’s front and center. There’s just one, not too big, but not too small either. Hanzo breaks away from McCree for a second to pull his bag off his shoulder and drop it to the floor.

“C’mere,” Jesse says against his mouth. He pushes Hanzo to the foot of the bed and sinks to the floor between his legs.

Hanzo can feel electricity under his skin, something he’d rather keep hidden. He helps McCree pull his pants down with reckless abandon. He’s half-hard already from the heat that seems to be glued to the man’s skin.

“Ready, gorgeous?” McCree asks in that heavenly voice of his, deeper still with arousal. His nose bumps against Hanzo’s thigh.

Hanzo nods, sound gone for a second because who knew he’d find the most handsome man on an empty highway?

McCree hooks his fingers into his briefs and pulls them down, exposing him to the cold for barely a moment before—

His breath hitches as the cowboy easily takes his cock in his mouth. A shock that he hasn’t felt in a long while. Jesse hums around his cock. He bobs his head up and down, and Hanzo slides his hand under the brim of his hat to knot his fingers in his hair, tugging at the long strands. It doesn’t take long at all until he’s on the edge of release but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. Instead he tugs at McCree’s hair again, pulling him off his cock.

“Please—” He stops as his fingers brush against something bumpy on McCree’s head.

A horn. It’s got to be a horn; his index finger curves against it. What was left of one, that is. He shifts his hand to the right and finds the other one, a bit longer, a bit more jagged.

“Didn’t really think this would happen.” Jesse’s voice is hoarse and Hanzo doesn’t know if he’s talking about them fucking or him discovering he’s a fable. “My luck’s not as good anymore.”

He sees the unsureness in his gaze. Realizes that Jesse doesn’t know.

“Kiss me.” He drops the hand in his hair to McCree’s face, pressing against his cheek.

Jesse grins ruefully. He wipes his mouth on his arm and shakes off the cowboy hat. They  _ are _ horns, uneven, one longer than the other, both broken, but fitting nonetheless. Hanzo stares at them till Jesse’s pushed him down on the bed and is above him, kissing him again. Their teeth click together and Hanzo huffs with laughter.

One of McCree’s knees wedges between his legs and he bites back a moan. He reaches down to cup at Jesse’s cock through his jeans.

“Darlin’,” Jesse groans. “You’re drivin’ me wild.”

Hanzo plucks at the button of McCree’s jeans and unzips the fly enough to reach closer, palm curling around his heavy cock. McCree’s horns catch his eye again.

He’s reminded he’s not alone.

They grind against each other and he lets blue scales flash across his cheekbones. Allows the lightning to show in his eyes, to let McCree know that he’s not the only one hiding who he is.

Jesse’s eyes go wide.  _ “Hanzo.”  _ He says his name as the pace gets even more frantic, their hips rutting against each other. “Darlin’—” the pressure is so strong and Hanzo is so  _ hot.  _ McCree might as well be the sun with how easily he lights his way across Hanzo’s skin.

Maybe it’s the excitement that causes them to let go so quickly. Hanzo can at least blame his own on the stress of running from home. He withdraws his hand from Jesse’s pants, sticky with white. It’s quiet.

“Jackalope,” Jesse finally murmurs, rolling to his side, breathing heavy. “You?”

“A dragon,” Hanzo answers. The word almost catches in his throat. “I’m on my way to the west coast.”

Jesse smooths one hand over Hanzo’s face. “All by your lonesome?”

Hanzo shrugs, pleasant afterglow letting him relax. “I could use company.” Unwise; he doesn’t really know this man, fable or not. Sometimes he is tired of playing it safe.

“That an offer?”

“I’m often cold.” Hanzo trails a finger against McCree’s jawline.

“S’okay, gorgeous.” Hanzo preens at the nickname. “I got enough fire for both of us.”

They check out fifteen minutes before seven while there’s still dew on the ground. Hanzo watches Jesse adjust his hat snugly over his head as the truck rumbles to life, scuffed horns hidden away.

He’ll ask about it later. They’ll have plenty of time on the road.

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is @shameforxx. comms and kofi drabbles are always open. or you can just shoot me an ask and ill see what I can do. >:}


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